La vie est un oignon qu'on épluche en pleurant.
Ne me secouez pas. Je suis plein de larmes.
Il y a des larmes pour nos malheurs.
Des mots qui pleurent et des larmes qui parlent.
Et le soleil voyant le spectacle nouveau À regret éleva son pâle front des ondes, Transi de se mirer en nos larmes profondes.
La nuit n'attend que nous pour boire une eau plus pure : L'éloge d'une larme est celui du pardon.
[…] Dans toutes les larmes s'attarde un espoir.
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